


I'm Only Good At Bad Poetry

by DrifterWriter



Series: Leo and Kun [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Argentina NT - Freeform, Fluffy, Happy, M/M, Non AU, Poetry, READ IT OK I SUCK AT TAGS, Some humour, THIS MIGHT BE GOOD SO JUST, slight angst not much, this is actually cute, young Kunessi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 23:46:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7953796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrifterWriter/pseuds/DrifterWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes, we bet on you getting together," Masche repeats, rolling his eyes, using the tone one would use with a small child. "It's bound to happen eventually-- can you guys just hurry the fuck up and get it on?"</p><p>"Am I that obvious?" Kun asks weakly, because is he that obvious?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Guys I suck at summaries too. I promise this is better than it looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Only Good At Bad Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/gifts).



> My morning has been weird af. 
> 
> This ones for Kathleen! I could go on about 'Why' forever so I'll just content myself by telling y'all out there that she's all the awesomeness in the world squeezed into one person. 
> 
> Special thanks to Aryan for the lovely piece of poetry at the end!

It's a little strange, really-- usually Kun is the one who is good with words, the one who knows exactly what to say, but when it comes to Leo, he just doesn't know how to describe him.

He'd accepted the fact that he loves Leo (even though they're just seventeen and eighteen years old and probably have no idea what true love means, Kun likes to think that this is it) a long time ago. He knows that the feeling isn't mutual, though-- Leo's made it clear enough that Kun is everything to him, but _everything_ means _best friend_ and nothing more.

But Kun takes what he gets. He doesn't mind their relationship, not really, and he knows both of them are happy with the way things are. So he doesn't say anything (he knows that he's a bit of a coward anyway) but showers Leo with kisses on the latter's cheek, with late night movies and FIFA, with comforting nonsense when Leo can't sleep, with mate in the mornings when Leo wakes up, revelling in the smile that Leo gives him.

They're best friends. The end.

Still, there's something about Leo that makes Kun want to write a novel, want to paint a picture, want to write poetry. The way he wakes up in the morning with his hair mussed and his eyes bleary before allowing Kun to drop a kiss into his cheek. The way he ducks his head whenever he's embarrassed. The way he runs with a ball at his feet, as natural to him as breathing is.

 

 

Poetry has always intrigued Kun.

He hasn't read much of it-- just the compulsory, dry pieces in school before he left, as well as a few English ones from his parents' bookshelf that he didn't really understand.

But writing poetry sounds so special, so grand, so _intimate_ \-- everybody talks of poets as if they write from the depths of their soul, as if nothing can touch them, as if what they write about is all what matters to them.

Leo is all that matters to Kun.

Kun thinks he'd like to write a poem about his best friend.

"What are you thinking?" Leo says from his bed, using one of his rare conversation starters. He rolls over onto his side so that he's facing Kun, who is seated on his own bed with his back against the headboard.

"Nothing," Kun says quickly.

"Really?" Leo says, arching an eyebrow. He rolls out of bed to walk over to Kun's and seats himself on the edge of the bed. "You looked like you were thinking."

Kun moves over to make space for Leo in his bed. "How would you know whether I was thinking?"

"Well, you look pained." Leo grins, unusually mischevious, and then pulls an expression which is supposed to resemble Kun's, screwing up his features into a look of intense concentration.

"Hey!" Kun squeaks indignantly, though he doesn't really mind. The fun side of Leo is rare and Kun doesn't want to ruin it. " I did not look like that."

"Sure, sure." Leo tucks himself under Kun's arm and snuggles into him, using his chest as a pillow.

They're quiet for a while. Leo's eyes are closed and his breathing is even, completely in sync with his own. Kun thinks he's drifted off and is just starting to fall asleep himself when Leo speaks, so softly that Kun had to shake himself awake.

"You were thinking, weren't you?"

"Huh?" Kun says, startled, trying to remember what he's talking about. "Oh, yeah. I was."

"What about?" Leo turns his head a little so that he's looking up at Kun.

"It isn't important," Kun says breezily, becuase _over his dead body_ is Leo going to know that he wants to write _poetry_ about him.

"Tell me," Leo says, insistently. It's strange, becuase Leo is usually the kind of person who asks once and then backs off-- not becuase he doesn't care (he _does_ , Kun has come to realise, Leo _does_ care in his little ways) but because he likes giving others their space and time. It's something Kun respects highly about Leo (among countless other things) because he himself has no fucking filter.

"It's nothing, Leo."

Leo's asked twice, but now he falls silent. He readjusts his head on Kun's chest, but his eyes are open.

"Go to sleep," Kun says softly, reaching out to stroke his hair.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you won't tell me what you're thinking about."

Kun stills, not expecting that answer. He stays silent, unsure of what to say-- _Leo, I know we're the best of friends, but I want to write romantic poetry about you?_

"I'll tell you someday," he promises, just to pacify Leo, hoping he'll be able to figure out an excuse eventually.

"I'll hold you to that," Leo says sleepily.

"Dammit," Kun mutters good-naturedly, chuckling under his breath. "No promises!"

Leo laughs. His chocolate eyes flutter shut as Kun continues to stroke his hair, and his breathing evens out, and Kun watches him finally fall asleep.

 

 

Months pass. Leo only gets better at everything he does (except talking, that's the one thing that Kun is better at) and Kun's desire to write romantic poetry about him only intensifies.

 _You're crazy,_ he tells himself, lying in bed next to Leo one night. Then he realises he's said that out loud.

"What?" Leo says sleepily from beside him, even though he has his own bed to sleep in. It's become something of a habit now, Leo crawling into his bed just as he's about to fall asleep. He's never explained it and Kun's never questioned it.

"Nothing, love." The endearment slips out without permission, but he can't take it back, not really. He mentally facepalms himself instead. "Go back to sleep."

God, he's becoming such a sap.

Angel (who Kun suspects knows about--well, about everything) dubs it 'The Leo Effect'.

It's got a nice ring to it.

 

 

 

 

"Fucking _do_ something about it," Kun, Masche mutters next to him.

They're sitting on the bench, watching their teammates play Brazil. Kun has a slight ankle sprain and Javier has a set of bruised ribs (how he managed to bruise his ribs in training, Kun has no idea, but he dismisses it as one of those Masche things-- probably tripped over a stray exercise cone). They're both fit enough to play as substitutes, though, if need be, so they change into their jerseys and sit there patiently.

"Huh?" Kun says intelligently, not really paying attention. Leo's got the ball at his feet with a goddamn beautiful tackle (Kun knows that he could be jealous, but he isn't, not when he knows that he can never compare to Leo, because this is _Leo_ ) and is tearing down the field, guiding the ball through the Brazilian defence as if it's stuck to his foot.

"About Leo," Masche says, and that draws Kun's attention to him, even though his eyes are still fixated on Leo's tiny, stocky form as he nutmegs a Brazilian.

"What do you mean?" Kun asks nonchalantly.

"Dude, it's so fucking obvious," Masche says. He doesn't sound angry, or disgusted-- just paternally expaserated. "I mean, you guys are practically married. Just-- I don't know, kiss him already? 'Cause I bet Angel that you guys would get together by the end of the month, but there's only twelve days left to October, and I really don't want to lose a hundred bucks to that idio-"

"What?" Kun squeaks disbelievingly, turning his full attention to Masche, who is smirking casually. "You guys _bet_ on us?"

"Sure did," Masche shrugs. "Me and Angel and Romero-"

"What the _fuck_?" Kun asks. Then again, because really. "You bet on us getting together?"

A cheer goes up from the crowd as Leo scores. Kun is so shocked by what Masche has just told him that he doesn't even remember to clap.

"Yes, we bet on you getting together," Masche repeats, rolling his eyes, using the tone one would use with a small child. "It's bound to happen eventually-- can you guys just hurry the fuck up and get it on?"

"Am I that obvious?" Kun asks weakly, because _is he that obvious?_

"Yeah, you are," Masche smiles at him. Then he frowns. "At least, to us. Leo, though--"

He breaks off. They both turn to watch Leo, who is pointing at the sky.

"Leo likes to be oblivious," Masche says quietly, after a while. "The truth could be staring him in the face, but you know him-- he won't accept it till there's no way to, y'know, not accept it."

Kun nods, but says, "He doesn't like me. Not that way."

Masche snorts, his eyes fixed on the ball. "Yeah, right, I'm going to tell Leo you said that when you guys are happily married."

Kun puches Masche on the arm (partly because of his frustration and partly because this is Masche) and turns back to the game.

"He'll never make the first move," Masche says after a while. "You gotta do it, Kun."

"Bro, I don't give a fuck about your stupid bet," Kun laughs.

But Masche doesn't smile. "It's not about the bet, Kun."

And it really isn't, is it?

The whistle for half-time blows. Both of them stand up as Leo runs towards them from the other side of the pitch.

"What are you going to do?" Masche asks Kun under his breath as Leo advances.

"Write poetry?" Kun says. It comes out as more of a question. He's not even sure whether he meant to say that-- his brain and mouth have never been well coordinated, and the shock has short-circuited all the connections.

Masche stares at him as if he's lost his mind. "Poetry?"

Kun nods. "Poetry."

Masche stares at him dubiously, but the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Good luck, Kun."

Leo is running towards them, looking perfect in blue and white, stretching his arms out towards Kun for a hug. He collides with Kun painfully and they go sprawling onto the pitch, both laughing even though Kun's ankle hurts a little.

"Did you see my goal?" Leo asks excitedly from under Kun, his over large ears peeking out from under his curly brown hair, chocolate eyes shining brightly. "Did you see-"

"I saw it!" Kun says, grinning down at his best friend. "You were so brilliant!"

Leo laughs, bashfully but proudly, and Kun can't help it-- he dips down to kiss Leo's cheek.

Leo laughs, startled but pleased. Kun rolls off him and stands, pulling him up alongside himself. Leo slings both his hands around Kun's neck and hugs him as the press get countless photographs of them together.

Masche rolls his eyes.

Kun can't help it. He doesn't want to help it. He grins.

 

 

 

  
"How's the poetry coming along?" Angel asks in training one day, as Leo stands just out of earshot of they talk softly enough.

"Masche told you?" Kun groans, covering his face with both hands.

"Just me," Angel winks roguishly, and Kun gives him a light shove. "But seriously, poetry. How's it going?"

"I haven't written any yet," Kun admits.

"Why not?"

"Because!" Kun almost yells in frustration, and Leo looks over to them for a brief second. Kun lowers his voice. "Because we're always together, and whenever he's in the same room, I can't fucking _concentrate_."

Angel burts out laughing. "Dude, you are in so _deep_."

"Shut up," Kun mutters, not really angry. "Maybe let me write the fucking poem, and then I'll be back to normal."

Angel is still laughing when Leo jogs over.

"Hey, Kun," he says as Angel finally stops giggling. "Want to warm up?"

It's not even that funny, but it's apparently enough to set Angel off again. He bursts into peals of laughter as Kun glares at him, leading a confused Leo away with whatever shred of dignity he has left.

 

 

 

 

They've been rooming together for as long as Kun can remember-- they're never apart at night if they can help it-- but for some reason Leo has to room with a new guy on this trip, and Kun is left in his room, alone.

It's feels strange, unpacking in a room without Leo watching him and singing softly under his breath, without telling Kun to be neat because _I'm not packing for you when we leave, Kun_ (he always ends up packing for Kun, though).

The silence only serves to remind Kun about how much he craves Leo's presence even though the latter is the quietest person he's ever met. Leo isn't as vital as the air he breathes, perhaps, but he's damn near.

Kun pulls out his clothes and dumps them on what should be Leo's bed before sitting down on the edge of his own in despair, glaring at the cheap hotel stationery as if it reads a personal insult to him.

Then it hits him.

He's alone.

In a hotel room.

With stationery.

Poetry. It's the perfect opportunity to write poetry.

As if someone's flicked a switch, he springs into action, working as if on autopilot but vey much aware of what he's doing. He finds a towel in the bathroom and ties it around his forehead (just for the _feel_ , y'know), drags the chair to the window, grabs the cheap hotel stationery and sits down to write.

Finally.

"You can do this," he mutters to himself, picturing Leo's smile. That helps.

Uncapping the pen, he puts the nib to the paper, scrawls Leo across the top--and though there's so much he wants to write, so much he wants to say, he finds that he has no fucking _words_.

Inspiration will come, he tells himself. He stares out of the window.

 

 

  
An hour later, he has nothing. He's growing increasingly frustrated-- he just has no idea where to start.

His phone buzzes. It's a text from Leo.

_Who did they put you with?_

He writes back cheekily, _Don't worry, love, I'm alone!_

_You better not be cheating on me!_

Kun laughs at that, texts back his assurance that Leo was, is, and will be the only person in his life.

He finds himself wishing that Leo knew it was true.

He turns his phone off and begins to write.

 

 

 

He's startled awake by the incessant knocks on his door.

He checks his watch-- 11:30 pm, wow-- and gets up hurriedly, nearly knocking over the coffee table as he tries to get to the door, cursing whoever it is at this godforsaken hour. He throws the door open.

"Leo?"

Leo's just standing there in his sky blue pyjamas, looking sleepy and lost the way a small child with a teddy bear does. Kun's heart melts, just a little bit.

"Hey, Kun." He runs a hand through his hair, looking awkward but at ease, somehow. "Can I come in?"

Kun moves aside to let him into the room, watching as Leo nearly sleepwalks to Kun's bed and flops down onto it, face down.

He goes to sit next to Leo on the bed and rubs his back, feeling the tautness and tension disappate from his shoulders. "You okay?"

"Just. Tired," Leo says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?"

"You weren't there."

Kun's throat constricts at that, becuase it really pains sometimes, the way Leo throws around intimacy like its a perfectly platonic thing to say, and then goes back to normal as if nothing happened.

"Well, I'm here now," he says.

He has a habit of stating the obvious. Sue him.  
  
"I know," Leo says, rolling onto his back so he's looking at Kun. He gives him a small smile, and Kun's heart shudders like the engine of the truck his dad used to drive him around in when he was little.

"Wanna play ProEvo?" Kun says helpfully, because they are teenagers and have every right to stay up all night playing video games.

"Sure," Leo says, face breaking into a grin. "I should probably sit up, though--my back--"

"Oh, yeah," Kun agrees, waving him towards the chair at the window. "Hold on, let me find my controller."

He hears Leo get up and turns to rummages through his bag, digging around for his PS through his clothes.

"Found it!" He holds it up in triumph, then frowns. "Dammit, it's out of battery. Sorry, Leo."

No answer.

"Leo?" Kun turns to look at him, and freezes.

Leo is holding the piece of paper on which Kun has written his poem, mouthing the words soundlessly as his brown eyes, which hold completely shock and disbelief, roam over the words that Kun has written.

Kun is rooted to the spot, mentally kicking himself for leaving the poem out on the coffee table for the world to see.

"I-- Kun?" Leo croaks uncertainly. "What's this?"

"A poem," Kun says, fighting to keep his voice neutral and shrugging with feigned indifference.

"About me?" Leo asks, quietly, raising his eyes to meet Kun's, freezing him once again.

"Who says its about you?"

"It has my name on it," Leo point out, and Kun almost laughs, because _of course it does._

"Okay, maybe it's a little bit about you," he admits.

He's extraordinarily calm and internally hyperventilating at the same time, every nerve in his body tingling in apprehension, every cell screaming run! because he really has no idea how Leo's going to react, now that he knows.

And then Leo starts to laugh.

Kun stares, dumbfounded.

Leo falls onto the bed, clutching his stomach as he rolls around in mirth, regaining control every now and then and going into peals at Kun's expression.

"Leo?"

Leo sits up, giggling. "Kun, the feeling is appreciated and reciprocated," he hiccups, laughing as if he hasn't just declared his love for Kun and rendered him speechless. "But did you not have any other way to start and finish your poem other than _there were two boys in Argentina/And they fell in love, the end_?" He laughs. "I don't know about poetry, but you'd make a great screenwriter."

"Hey, don't insult the poem!" Kun says with feigned hurt, recovering some of his nerve, because Leo looks perfectly at ease, and this may turn out better than Kun thought. "I put a lot of love into it, okay?"

"I don't doubt it," Leo grinned, walking over to where Kun stood, still frozen (most motor skills were still unavailable). "Want me to write _you_ some poetry?"

He picks up the pen and starts to scribble. Kun looks at him, because _what the actual fuck_.

"You play football _and_ you can write poetry?" He says, half incredulous, half admiring, not even bothering to read what Leo's written. "What else _can_ you do?"

Leo thinks about it, and then says cheekily, "you."

They stare at each other, and then suddenly Kun snorts despite himself (because that joke is ridiculously bad and endearing) and then he's laughing and Leo is laughing.

And Kun suddenly needs to kiss Leo.

"I'm going to kiss you," he tells Leo, because.

"You don't say," Leo grins. "Hurry up, then."

Kun kisses him.

Leo tastes of peppermint, smells of grass and feels like home.

 

 

  
Leo is sleeping on his chest when Kun wakes up. It's not anything new, but it's a different feeling, something special, something he could get used to, he thinks.

There's a piece of paper lying on the side table-- Leo's poem for Kun is scrawled underneath his attempt. It's short and sweet, like Leo.

 _He is a hurricane_  
_But even in the calm of the storm_  
 _I am swept away._

 

Kun smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue: 
> 
> "Alright, Angel," Masche says, grinning. "Pay up."
> 
> Angel groans. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> As always, appreciation is appreciated.


End file.
